


Let Me Be a Part of the Narrative

by angelxhoney



Series: Memoirs of a Girl Detective [2]
Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelxhoney/pseuds/angelxhoney
Summary: Elizabeth has a lot on her plate. The Mafia is becoming increasingly entangled in her life, with multiple tragedies and now murders that she has to get to the bottom of. Will she be able to solve these mysteries? What about the budding romance with her partner? Will her discoveries get in the way of their love, or will they only make it flourish?The second part of my first work, following Davis's romance. The POV will switch between the two characters occasionally. While not completely necessary, I would highly recommend reading the first part for the best continuity. Thank you again for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Elizabeth Colvin/Edmund Davis
Series: Memoirs of a Girl Detective [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170587
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a second part to MoaGD, but it is independent of the other two romances. Each one is self contained and will finish its entire arc in one fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Davis's POV
> 
> While it is in the tags, I do want to add a trigger warning for detailed descriptions of blood and death. Please take caution if this is something that bothers you.

January 28th, 1928 

Davis laid motionless on his couch, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes from the premiere the night prior; he had only kicked off his shoes when he had arrived home and then immediately flopped down onto the first surface that would support his weight. The events of the night had exhausted him, but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. Instead, he just laid there, thinking. He thought about the gunshots, about the fear he had felt, and about how hard it had been to pay attention to Elizabeth when she talked over their dinner.

It had been a long time since he had heard a fire fight. Many, many years. Tears threatened his vision as he recalled the last time the Mafia had had a hand in his life; he brushed them away angrily. Some immature part of him was angry at Daisy for keeping him- he could have been with Elizabeth when the bullets started flying, could have made sure she was safe. He knew it wasn’t fair; she had no control over the events that would unfold. But he could have saved himself the panic attack that had ensued. Instead, he had been in the dressing room with an increasingly tipsy star begging him to rail her over her makeup vanity.

_ ‘C’mon Eddie, it’ll be fun. The mirror will make it like watching our own movie.’  _ Daisy’s lower lip trembled. _ ‘It’ll be fun. Like old times.’ _

Eddie stared at her, floored.  _ ‘Daisy, no. I told you last time was just that; the last time. This is just going to hurt you.’ _

Daisy crossed her arms, tears welling at the corners of her brilliant blue eyes.  _ ‘I still love you.’ _

_ ‘I know. That’s why we have to stop. I care about you, I really do, but we broke up for a reason. Your career was taking you places and I had to take over the paper and we went separate ways. I’ve moved on. We’re not who we were when we were teenagers, and that’s okay, that’s natural-’  _

_ ‘My career? Don’t play with me, Eddie. We both know you lost all of your ability to emotionally connect when your parents died. You changed, not me.’ _

Davis threw his hands up in frustration.  _ ‘You think I don’t know that? I fucked up, Daisy. I should have broken it off then, but I didn’t, because I was lonely and scared and  _ **_sixteen_ ** _! So I stayed and we had flings on and off because it was familiar and safe, and that’s on me. It is. I know it is. I should have let you go. But I’ve grown up, okay? I realized we can’t keep doing this, and you can’t keep trying to coax me into giving you one last time so that you’ll feel better. You’re holding onto something that’s been dead a long time.’  _

She was full-on crying now. It tore at his heart, seeing her hurt like this, but he knew letting it go on would only hurt her more. 

_ ‘It’s her, isn’t it? That ‘colleague’ of yours. Ah-’  _ she held up a finger as he tried to protest, her brow furrowed. _ ‘Don’t you even try to lie to me, Eddie. Maybe you can pull that shit with her, but not me. I know you too well.’ _

_ ‘You don’t though, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’ve got this idea of me, Daisy, this guy that’s in your head and he’s not me.’  _ Davis sighed. He stepped forward to try and wipe the tears from her cheeks, but Daisy roughly pushed him away.

_ ‘Then why are you here! What do you want from me, if you don’t want to haul my ashes.’  _ Daisy shouted, her delicate hands curled into fists at her sides.

_ ‘Please, Daisy. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I just came to tell you that I was happy for you, that you’re doing so well. That I’m proud of you. That’s all. I don’t want anything from you, there's no ulterior motive. I just wanted to congratulate you.’ _

_ ‘Don’t.’  _ She shook her head.  _ ‘I don’t want- it hurts when you’re nice-’  _

Davis stopped in his tracks. There had been a noise, a very distinct sound that had echoed from deeper within the theater.

_ ‘Eddie, if you’re gonna go, just go, please-’  _

Davis held up a hand to try and get her to quiet down. There it was again, and now there was screaming. He had been right- it was gunfire. 

_ ‘Daisy, someone’s shooting. You need to hide.’ _

_ ‘What?’  _ Daisy stammered, confused.

_ ‘Hide, you need to hide! Get behind the show dresses or something until we can get you out of here!’  _ Panic was starting to set in as the shots continued. Davis felt his heart beating in his throat and his chest starting to tighten up. He grabbed Daisy by the arm and pulled her behind the rack of costumes. He started pulling the dresses together, trying to create a more solid curtain to mask her presence. There were barely enough of them there to do much for her, and all he could do was hope that if anyone came in they wouldn’t look too hard.  _ What did they want anyways?  _

The door flew open as Davis was still trying to fix the rack. He swiveled to face the intruder, ready to fight, but relaxed a little when he instead saw Daisy’s manager.

_ ‘Get her out of here.’  _ Davis sighed, moving out of the way so that the other man could help the starlet escape the shootout. Her manager eyed his poor work with the clothes and scowled before gingerly helping Daisy around the rack and out of the room. Daisy tried to keep her eyes on Davis, looking over her shoulder until they were too far around the corner for her to see. Davis thought he heard her cry his name, but he wasn’t sure. His thoughts were already elsewhere, to someone else.

Elizabeth.

She wasn’t outside the room. He could barely remember where he had told her to wait for him while he talked to Daisy. The entrance, maybe? That sounded reasonable. He took off running down the hallway back towards the lobby, hoping that she had already made her way outside. Elizabeth was smart; of course she had just ran, that would have made the most sense. He stumbled into the lobby and almost threw up at the scene unfolding before him.

The doors to the theater were all open, the cold wind blowing across the marble floors. Men were slumped over on the ground, unmoving, blood blossoming in horrible flowers along their bodies. A few others lay in unnatural positions, having been trampled on the way out into the streets. There was still shooting somewhere upstairs; he could hear the shots ringing out above him. Davis’s vision started to tunnel, and he could barely think straight. He stumbled across to the front entrance and stood out by the ticket booth. He worked his way into the little structure and finally collapsed. People had flooded the streets, trying to flag taxis and hitch rides from those with cars. Some people just ran mindlessly down the street, unsure of where they were going but fine as long as it was anywhere but that theater. Davis let his head rest in his hands and he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. 

Where was Elizabeth? He couldn’t leave without her. He could, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t forgive himself if he had brought her to this event and subsequently to her death.  _ I can’t lose someone else because of my mistakes. Not again. _

Davis lost track of time. He sat there, knees to his chest, until the noise finally stopped and the sound of distant police sirens began to replace the sound of shooting. He slowly got up and left the ticket booth. There were scattered playbills and tickets littering the sidewalk, and maybe a few stragglers that were waiting to see if the culprits would leave out the front of the building. Davis knew they wouldn’t; the police would be lucky to find any trace of who had shot who, or why. That was just how the Mafia worked. He supposed some might actually know very well the who and why, but they were making enough money from the who that they would purposefully cover for them. Davis checked the faces of every individual person outside and felt the panic return when he could not find a trace of his coworker. 

She would finally come out of the theater about five minutes later, unharmed. Davis had circled the building twice by then, and was about to lose his mind with worry when he finally spotted the shimmery gold fabric that he had helped her buy earlier that day. He had gathered the flustered girl into his arms, dotingly searched her for injuries or signs of emotional distress. He had been floored to discover that she was perfectly fine, and had even started trying to formulate an article around the event. When she asked him if they could go out to eat, he had almost let his jaw drop in front of her.

_ ‘I think I’m going to go to the police station, tomorrow.’  _ She had said as they looked over their menus.  _ ‘I mean, both about this and about my apartment. They never actually showed up.’  _

Davis nodded absentmindedly. The waiter brought him a cup of black coffee, and a cup of tea for Elizabeth.  _ ‘The police… aren’t particularly good at their jobs, around here.’  _

_ ‘Yeah, I noticed. Probably won’t get much better, either.’  _ She replied offhandedly. She wrinkled her nose at the paper menu in her hands, bothered by the listings.  _ ‘You guys really just eat anything, huh.’ _

_ ‘Hmm?’  _

Elizabeth pointed to one of the appetizers.  _ ‘Like, clam broth. Is that even good? What’s in it?’ _

_ ‘Clams.’ _

Elizabeth squinted at him in annoyance.  _ ‘Well yeah, I got that part, Captain Obvious. You didn’t answer my other question, either.’  _

_ ‘I think it’s alright. I’d get the chicken and rice, though, if I were you. It’s rich, but it’s spectacular.’  _

_ ‘Do you just wanna share a plate?’ _

_ ‘What?’ _

_ ‘Share. Do you want to share with me? I don’t know how much either of us will eat, since you seem out of it and I’m not sure about the cuisine.’ _

Davis cracked a smile. ‘ _ Sure, yeah. That’ll work.’ _

So when the waiter had come around, they had ordered one plate between the two of them. Elizabeth had been satisfied with the dish when it came- apparently it looked like a casserole her mother used to make- and ate a good portion of their meal. Between bites, she would continue talking about how she wanted to organize an article on the shoot out for next week’s paper. Davis wasn’t fully paying attention, his mind wandering back to the bodies on the marble floor.

_ ‘Edmund.’ _

Davis snapped to, confused.  _ ‘Edmund?’ _

_ ‘I called your name a couple of times and you just didn’t answer.’  _ Elizabeth blushed, though her concern showed more than her embarrassment.  _ ‘What’s on your mind? You haven’t been present since we sat down.You’re starting to worry me.’  _

_ ‘I’ve just never seen someone die.’  _ Davis lied.  _ ‘They were so still. Doesn’t it bother you?’ _

Elizabeth sat there silently stirring her tea. The rhythmic sound was calming, and it helped keep his mind from leaving the table while he waited for her to respond.

_ ‘It’s not mine.’  _ She said after a few minutes.  _ ‘I saw a car drive off of a road, when I was a little younger. The woman in the car, she had hit her head off of the wheel a couple of times during the impact. She ended up crawling into the street and she just… collapsed there. A friend and I had been driving by and we stopped to try and help. My friend went to get the police while I stayed, holding her there and trying to stop the bleeding. I don’t think we could have done much in the long run- her nose was crushed and I think she had done some really bad damage to her brain. She laid there in my lap, crying and asking me how bad it was.’  _ Elizabeth stopped talking and shook her head, a sad and bitter smile forming on her lips.  _ ‘I’ll never forget, she asked me the most bizarre thing. I think about it a lot. She was bleeding out and in all that pain, and she asked me, ‘Am I still pretty?’. I sat there and I assured her she was just as beautiful as she was before she got in the car, even though her face was caved in. Isn’t that crazy? I spent her last moments telling her she was pretty. She stopped moving after that. Her eyes lost focus and she just… left. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. It was like there was this shell left, and whoever had been in it had gone.’  _

Elizabeth made a few sniffling sounds, and Davis realized she was crying. She was stubbornly trying to wipe the tears that were streaming down her face, almost as if she were angry with herself for being upset. She let out a little laugh as Davis put his hand over the one she had left resting on the table.  _ ‘I’m alright. I guess… I guess I was trying to say, it doesn’t really get any better, seeing it, but I think… I think it’s a little easier for me to block it out, since I knew what was going on. So, it does bother me. I’m not heartless, you know. I just..’  _ She sighed. Whatever point she was trying to convey, it was stuck, and she was frustrating herself even more trying to get it out. He let her sit for a while until she had gathered her senses enough to speak fully.  _ ‘I was trying to say, if you need to talk about it later, or you just need someone to understand, I’m here.’ _

Davis nodded. He couldn’t think of anything to say, really. He had lied to ease the tension, and had instead caused her to cry as she tried to comfort him.  _ ‘Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine, I’m just a little shook up is all. Come on, it’s getting late. We should probably head out.’  _

Then, Elizabeth had looked at him with her eyes brimming with tears, mascara streaked down her face and said,  _ ‘I don’t really want to go home.’  _

He had wanted to take her home with him from the beginning; partly because of her apartment, which he didn’t think could be safe right now. As far as she had told him, she still hadn’t fixed the broken lock, leaving her even more vulnerable to any other petty thieves or worse. Another reason was that he knew that if he slept alone tonight, he would have nightmares until morning. The last reason was the most selfish; Daisy had been right. He  _ did  _ like Elizabeth; he just wasn’t sure if he should do anything about it. She was one of the most astounding women he had ever met, and he wanted nothing more than to be her man. Davis ran a hand through his tousled blond hair and sighed deeply. He figured if he was going to go about trying to court her, he should probably stop lying to the dame. 

Davis sat up on the couch and stretched. The hotel suite he had been living in for some time now reflected the presence of his guest, her shoes tucked neatly by the door. He had told her he would rent it for the night for them, but he was sure she could tell he lived there regardless. Regardless, she hadn’t said anything, and they had simply talked over a bottle of wine until he had given her the bedroom for the night. The suite was quiet; he wondered if she had been able to get any sleep. 

The clock above the mantle read two in the morning. Davis figured he wouldn’t be getting any rest tonight himself, so he tried to think of other ways to fill his time. He decided upon another bottle of wine and a deck of cards; a good game of solitaire had never done him wrong. Without company to share the drink with, he saved himself the glass and simply drank straight from the bottle. Davis shuffled the deck and began to lay out the tableau. 

“What are you playing?” 

Davis stopped, cards still in hand. Elizabeth stood at the entrance of his bedroom, her mousy brown waves ruffled from sleep. She must have gone through his drawers because one of his pyjama shirts hung loosely over her body instead of the dress she had arrived in. The soft curve of her collarbone peeked out from the halfway buttoned top, and her legs were astonishingly completely bare. Davis felt the blood rushing to his cheeks as he tried desperately not to stare. 

“Solitaire.” 

Elizabeth made her way over and sat on the couch beside him. She picked up the bottle of red and took a sip, gazing at the spread of playing cards. “Is it hard?”

The warm glow from the fireplace cast a lovely shine on her exposed skin. She offered him the bottle back and he took it, taking a long drink before he found his words.

“No. It’s not really easy, but it’s meant to keep the mind occupied more than challenge you, I think.”

“You can’t sleep.” 

“No.” Davis sighed. “Could you?”

She shook her head. “I think I might have dozed off for a little while, but I just kept seeing things. I figured I would see if you were still up.”

“What would you have done if I wasn’t?”

She looked at him, bemused. “I knew you would be.” 

“But what if I  _ wasn’t _ ?” 

“I would have laid with you, I think.” she replied. Davis searched her face for emotion and found her unreadable. It was like saying that was of no note to her. He found himself wishing that he had been able to sleep. “The company makes you feel safer. More grounded. Or at least, it does for me.”

“Why do you live in a hotel, Davis?” she asked after he didn’t respond.

Davis chewed on his lower lip. There was no reason to lie, not to her. She would find out the truth on her own anyways. He knew that. “It’s temporary. My house is lonely. It’s too big and there’s no one in it but me. It’s empty but it’s full of memories that take up too much space. This… it makes me feel like it’s temporary, somewhere I’m staying while I wait for someone to come home.”

“No ones coming home though, are they?” She said it more so than she asked, like she already knew the answer. Her expression was soft, concerned. 

“No. They’re not.” Davis gave up on the cards, discarding them onto the table without organization. He took another drink and handed the bottle back to Elizabeth. “I lied when I said I hadn’t seen a dead body before.”

“I know.” She took a drink and tucked her legs up onto the couch underneath herself. “I thought maybe if I told you my story, you might tell me yours, in time.”

“It’s not a good story.”

“I would be shocked if it was.” 

Davis looked at her. He knew she wasn’t going to push him, but a part of himself still felt compelled to tell her. “When I was a kid, my parents were cut down by the Mafia.” Elizabeth didn’t say anything in response. “I was um... I was home from boarding school for a weekend. It was summer, and we were having lemonade out on the veranda. I didn’t get to spend time with my parents very often; they were just so busy all of the time. It was a treat, you know, getting to be with them so casually. My mother had brought home this wonderful little cheesecake from a deli in Manhattan, and my father was feeding it to her like she was a child. She had been delighted, just laughing and playing with him. I had been telling them about my school, and how I had made the track team.”

Davis took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from wavering too much. Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on his knee and patiently waited for him to continue. “We didn’t even hear them come in. That was what was so crazy to me. There were four of them, and they all had guns. I think I had opened a few of the windows, you know, to let in the breeze. I often wonder if I hadn’t… I don’t know. They shot my mother first; she died instantly. The bullet went right between her eyes. I had never heard my father scream before that. I didn’t even know he was capable of that sort of sound. It felt like it shook the window panes. The second shot hit him in the shoulder, and he told me to run. The rest is a blur, really. I took off out the back door and didn’t stop. I don’t know how long I ran, only that I eventually ended up at my Aunt’s house a few miles away.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Davis repeated, confused. “Why did I go to my Aunt’s?”

“No, I mean… what did the Mafia want with your parents? Why did they kill them?” 

Davis frowned. “I don’t know. I tried to figure it out for years. The police never made any headway, but I honestly don’t know if they were trying. The Mafia, they’ve got their hands in everything. I’m not sure I’ll ever truly know.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Davis,” she said softly. 

“I know that. Rationally, I mean, I know that I couldn’t have stopped it. I was just a kid. It doesn’t keep me from feeling that way, though.”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure… I don’t know. Thank you for telling me.”

Davis nodded. His whole body felt heavy and he didn’t really feel like talking much anymore. 

“Will you come lay with me?”

He glanced at Elizabeth, floored. Her eyes were pleading, and she looked tired as well. He nodded again, and rose to his feet. Elizabeth followed at his heels as they went to the bedroom. She got into the bed first; he hesitated a little until she reassuringly patted the mattress at her side. He joined her, fully clothed, and laid beside her. Elizabeth immediately siphoned herself to his side, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Astoundingly, he actually managed to drift off into a comfortable slumber next to her. Anytime he awoke with a start from some sort of nightmare, Elizabeth was there, her warm body enough to remind him that he was safe. She had been right, of course- the company was enough to ground him. He realized as he laid there, waiting for sleep to welcome him back, that this might have been what he was looking for at Daisy’s side all these years but had never achieved. As he drifted off again, he found himself wishing that she would stay the night every night.


	2. Chapter 2

January 28th 1928

I woke up relatively late for my standards. It must have been around noon or so- the sun was already pretty high in the sky. The bed was empty but I could hear someone moving around out in the sitting area. Davis must have woken up before me. I pulled my borrowed shirt closer around my shoulders and padded out into the sitting area we had been in last night. Davis had changed clothes and was drinking a cup of black coffee.

“There better not be brandy in that.”

Davis looked up from his coffee and smiled. “Would you like to try it and find out?”

I sat down in the chair across from him and he offered me the cup. I took a sip and gagged. “Ugh, Davis! I was kidding!”

Davis laughed. “I wasn’t.” He took the cup back from her and nodded to another one sitting on a silver tray on the table. “There’s a clean one there for you, if you’d like.”

“Thanks.” I shook my head and tried to drink away the awful taste of the concoction Davis had just served me. “God, isn’t it a little early to be drinking like that?”

Davis shrugged. “Long day ahead of me, long day behind me. Figured it would give me enough pep to make it through.”

“Yeah, because that’s a super normal way to handle things.” I scoffed. “Anyways, if you’re still alright with it, I’d like to swing by the police station and try to pick up any details we might have missed yesterday.”

“That’s fine, but we’ll probably have to go by your apartment first.”  
“What? Why? We’re losing daylight, not to mention it’s Saturday- with how little they do here, I bet the police leave the office before four.”

Davis gave me a once over and smirked. “I mean, that’s fine sweetheart, but you’re going to have a hard time getting them to pay attention to anything you say.”

I followed his gaze and blushed. He was right; I was dressed for bed, and the only thing I had with me was an evening gown. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right. Well, we’d better get going then.”

“Hey, woah, at least let me finish my coffee first and then we’ll leave okay?”

True to his word, as soon as the two of us finished our drinks, I slipped on a pair of Davis’s old trousers and we left for my apartment. After I had changed into something a little more appropriate, we took off for the central police office in Manhattan. Davis opted to wait in the car while I talked to the officers, and I didn’t protest. While I wasn’t fond of the police, Davis had good reason to despise them, and I wasn’t about to put him in that sort of position. 

The police station was sluggish. No one looked particularly busy, and the cops were milling about leisurely. 

“Um, excuse me?” I said to a younger looking man sitting at a desk nearest the entrance. “I was wondering, did you have any updates on the shooting at the Ornald Theater last night?” 

The officer looked up from his planner and smiled. “Hey. Reporter?”

I nodded. “Yessir.”

“Alright. Wait here, I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” The young man walked away into one of the offices towards the back of the room. I didn’t have to wait very long; he returned pretty quickly with a pudgy cop in his late forties.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, Miss Reporter. There hasn’t been much progress in the investigation yet.” The cop told me hesitantly, wringing a worn policeman's cap in his hands repeatedly. “There haven’t been many witnesses that have come forward yet, so we don’t have much to go on.”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion but continued to tread lightly. “I see. Did you need any help? I know several people that may have been there that night that I could get a hold of, if you’d like.”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, Miss. We can’t… coerce testimony. They’ll come to us when they’re ready of course. And the scene, you know, it was such a mess. Very chaotic. We aren’t sure we’ll be able to really put together any sort of profile.” 

“Uh-huh.” I crossed my arms over my chest in annoyance.  _ That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve heard since I got here. _ “Can you at least tell me the names of the victims?”

“There were no victims.” 

The bald-faced lie caught me off guard. I had seen the bodies; I knew what a dead man looked like. It took me a second to gather my senses before I spoke again. “No victims? Like, no deaths?” 

“Correct. There were a few minor injuries, but luckily everyone made it out just fine in the end.” The police officer tried his best to assuage my disbelief to no avail. 

“Well, do you want  _ my _ testimony, then? Because I have quite a lot of information that’s contradictory to what you’re telling me.”

The officer was getting angry, now. Color had risen to his cheeks, and the wringing of his hat had picked up its pace. It looked almost like he was strangling the thing. “I don’t like what you’re suggesting, young lady.”

“And what exactly am I suggesting?” 

“That we can’t do our jobs.” 

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “I mean, if the shoe fits, I suppose. This wouldn’t be the first time you dropped the ball.”

He was fuming now. “Dropped the- now you listen here, missy-”

“No,  _ you _ listen. You didn’t show up to my apartment when it was broken into and ransacked. I haven’t seen a single car patrolling the streets lately, even though you probably should be with the current crime climate.” I jabbed a finger into his chest accusingly. “Where were the mighty police when I was getting shot at by a stalker on January 18th?” 

“Well you look unharmed to me, so it doesn’t seem like it was that big of a deal now, was it! Was anything important stolen? Anything valuable broken?” The officer was shouting now. Other policemen were starting to pay attention to us, their hands hovering restlessly over their holsters. “If it was important, you would have come to us sooner. The police aren’t God, girl. We cannot be everywhere at once, and we do not have to respond to your every beck and call.”

I matched his volume on reflex. “You could have at least shown up! I can’t find any of my notes on the Metropolitan Hospital, my notebooks were trashed, I don’t know where anything is anymore-” I choked a little on my words as tears started to well up. This always happens when I get angry, and it’s so hard to get anything out once I start crying. I tried to slow down and fix my tone so that I could still come across as professional. I cleared my throat and started again. “I lost a lot of things that were important to me, even if they weren’t particularly valuable.”

The cop had taken a shift in posture as well, and he was no longer shouting. Instead, he looked apprehensive. “Are you… E.J Colvin?”

“Elizabeth, yes. E.J is my pen name.”

“Wait here. I’ll go check the call records.” 

With that, he turned on his heel and left in a hurry, leaving me alone in the tense environment we had created. I shuffled my weight around uncomfortably as I waited for him to return with whatever had made him change his mind so swiftly. It was a little bit alarming, truthfully. _ How did he know my name _ ? A cold chill swept over my body. Something wasn’t quite right here. 

I was starting to consider leaving when an irate voice commanded my attention. A professionally dressed, middle-aged black woman strode into the room, flanked by a small team of sharply dressed officers; a stark contrast to the policemen here. The senior officer that the woman was berating looked like a toddler playing dress-up in comparison. 

“What do you mean you don’t have any witness testimony? When did you even get to the scene? Did you even try to gather anyone?” She snapped, her voice full of contempt. “Is this why you’re delaying the investigation?” 

The officer tried desperately to stammer out an acceptable answer. He parroted something similar to what the pudgy officer had told me earlier, about the hectic crime scene and the lack of people. The woman stared down her nose at him with her hands on her hips. “Please, Prosecutor Boseman, we’re doing our best.” He pleaded.

“Enough excuses. You’re covering for them. This office has been neglecting its civil duties to line its pockets with mob money for too long.”

The officer tried again, seemingly more desperate than before. He didn’t even try to rebuke her assumptions. “Ma’am, it’s only been a day. Give us time. No one has come forward yet. We have a tip line open, someone will call in with information soon enough.”

“Are those the Chief Inspector’s instructions? If you’re truly having that hard of a time, I’ll just put in a formal request to have the case transferred to our department. I’m sure he’d be happy enough to hand it over.” 

“You’re being so stubborn, woman. I assure you, there wouldn’t be any progress even if the case was handed over to you.”

Prosecutor Boseman narrowed her eyes and leaned down so that she was almost nose to nose with the man. “I’m sorry, was that a threat, Mr. Barr?” 

“Ma’am? I was at the shootout at the Ornald.”

Once there was a break in the argument, I took the chance to pipe up and get the woman's attention. I managed to draw her attention, as well as the other officer and their subordinates. The prosecutor looks at me with piqued interest. “Are you certain? Can you tell me when it happened, as well as the reason for your presence on the site?”

“It happened last night, a little after nine o’clock. I was there for an interview with Daisy Collins, concerning her role in the movie that was showing that evening.” 

“You’re a reporter?” She asked as she crossed the room to stand with me. She was taller than I had first thought; with her heels, she stood a little taller than Davis. “What’s your name and newspaper?”

“Elizabeth Colvin. I work for the Gotham Times.” 

Her face softened at my openness. She extended a slender hand for me to shake, which I took gladly. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Colvin. I’m Diane Boseman, the new Special Prosecutor with the city. Thank you for volunteering your testimony.”

Behind her, I caught the senior officer glaring at the two of us before he sauntered off into the same office the pudgy policeman had retreated into. They looked extremely agitated with our involvement with each other.

“It’s no problem. Someone has to get the ball rolling, I suppose.” I sighed. 

Diane laughed at my subtle jab. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now, can you briefly recount the incident?”

I did as I was asked. I told her everything I could remember, leaving out only the names of the people I had no need to have recognizd. While I was aware that the Mafia was involved, I had a feeling Mr. Puzo wouldn’t be very fond of me giving her his name and Nino’s. It just seemed like a cruel thing to do after all of the help he’d given me. I also cut out the part about the two of us hiding together in a closet, as that also seemed irrelevant to the investigation. Diane nodded to herself as one of her companions took notes. She waited for me to finish completely before she asked any questions.

“That was a very detailed account of events, Miss Colvin. Thank you. I’d expect no less from a reporter of your caliber. Would you mind coming with me back to my office to record your testimony? I have a few things I would like to ask you about as well.” 

“Sure, that’s no problem-oh.” I suddenly remembered Davis was still out in the car, waiting for me. “I’d be happy to come with you, but do you mind if I bring someone along? I had someone drive me here. He was actually at the theater as well, if that’s any help?” 

“Of course, that’d be perfectly fine. Actually, if he’s willing, I could get both of your accounts recorded at the same time… that would be a tremendous step in the process.” Diane said the last half mostly to herself. She pulled a white card out of her wallet and handed it to me. “The address for our headquarters is on there. You can swing by anytime today before four.” 

“If it’s alright with you we’ll just go now. I can see you over there in a few minutes.”

Diane nodded and motioned for the rest of her group to leave. As I began to follow them out the door, the pudgy policeman from earlier returned with a file in hand.

“Miss Colvin, I found your records for…” he paused and frowned. “Where are you heading off to?”

I hesitated. The file in his hand was thick; too thick for someone with no criminal record. While the whole encounter had felt wrong, this in particular filled me with a sense of dread. I doubted that they were actually going to help me. Too many people went missing in jail cells where I came from. I shook my head, and stayed near the exit. “I’m sorry, I have something else I need to take care of.”

“Something else? What could be more important than this? You were so aggressive and demanding just a moment ago, and now you’re suddenly no longer concerned about your apartment?” The officer grunted angrily and shook his doughy fist at me. “You damned reporters these days; all you do is waste our time! Claiming you’re being stalked one moment, your house broken into the next- you’ll do anything for a damn scoop.”

Diane spoke up now. “You’ve been stalked?” 

She moved to stand in front of me, blocking the officer from my view. I’m grateful, though slightly embarrassed that she had been dragged into my personal issues now. “Yes ma’am.”

“And your house was broken into? Could you elaborate for me?”

Again, I do as I was asked. I told her about the state of my home and my ruined things, and the walk home from the dinner party. I did my best to include everything I could remember. Diane looked more concerned the more I spoke, her brow furrowing with worry. 

“Miss Colvin, I don’t think these are independent occurrences. I read your article while you were still at The Sun; it was a compelling piece, but it shined a light on some things that a lot of people were trying to keep hidden. I believe you are being targeted because of your exposé.”

I stared at her, wide eyed in surprise. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t considered that before; it made perfect sense. “Do you think they’re trying to stop me from digging any deeper? I’m not really sure what else there is to find out about how terrible they’re treating people, so… perhaps there’s something else going on? Something worse?”

“I don’t know. Was there anything in particular you focused on, more so than the rest of the content?”

I tried to remember exactly what I had included in my feature. “Well, there were mostly just descriptions of the wards, and the patients themselves. I think the only one I might have named was Jessica… though I changed her surname to protect what little privacy she had.” I hesitated. “Do you think she has something to do with all of this? She’s the only one I gave a detailed history to.”

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” She sighed and ran her thumb over her lip as she thought. “It would be dangerous to go back, of course, after you caused such a stir…”

“I don’t mind. I went there once, I can do it again. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Keep me updated, please. I’d like to help if I can.”

“The same goes for you, ma’am. I’ll be by your offices in a little bit.”

Although the officer continues to protest, we both take our leave without paying him any mind. Diane and her party turn up the street while I turn down, hurrying to meet Davis in his yellow car. Through the window, I can see that he’s fallen asleep while I was gone. I climbed into the passenger's seat and tried not to laugh. Davis had half a deli sandwich laid out in his lap, and there was still a little bit of mustard smeared on his chin. I pulled my kerchief from my bag and gently dabbed it against my tongue before wiping the mustard away. Davis woke with a start and almost tossed the sandwich from his legs. 

“Shit, Liz, don’t scare me like that!”

I laughed and tucked away the piece of cloth. “Did you not hear me get in?”

“Obviously not.” He grumbled. “Damn mouse, you are.”

“You’re the one that started calling me that. It’s not my fault it fits.” I shook my head. “I see you got lunch.”

Davis looked down at his lap. “Well yeah. You took forever, I was about to leave you here!” I punched him lightly in the shoulder and he chuckled. “I kid, I kid. Where to next, Miss?”

I handed him the card Diane had given me. “We’re going to go give testimony about the shootout. I just met the new special prosecutor for New York; that’s why it took so long. That and the police were stonewalling me...”

Davis looked truly surprised by the card. “What, she’s actually trying to do something about last night?”

“Yeah. She even said she wanted to help us out with the hospital. She thinks all the stuff that’s been happening to me, it’s because of my article.” 

He nodded slowly, thinking. “I guess that makes sense. I’m fine with that, then. Let’s get going, it’s already past two.”

**


	3. Chapter 3

February 12th, 1928

It took more than two weeks for me to get a free day to go back to the hospital. I spent most of the time after my conversation with Diane on writing the feature about the shootout. It was published last Friday, with the help of the prosecutor and her office. We ended up determining there were six deaths; most of them from smaller mob families in the city. Mr. Kane was thrilled with the story, and I took the opportunity to ask him for a day to go back to Metropolitan. He agreed, with the only exception being that I wait a little while before publishing another article on the place. I thought that was fair, honestly; even if I had wanted to write another article on it right now, I would have probably waited anyways- for my own safety.

I tried to dress sensibly, like someone visiting a family member. I’ve concocted an identity for myself as a distant cousin of Jessica’s; seeing as her father and daughter are both gone, it would be silly to try and pretend I was any closer of a relative. Once I was pleased enough with my outfit for the day, I left my apartment to try and call a cab to take me to the hospital. It didn’t take very long to catch a ride, and since I left relatively early, I managed to make it to my destination by nine in the morning. I was a little shocked that the nurse didn’t question my identity. Granted, I gave her a fake name, but I thought they would do a little more to get me to verify my identity.  _ I guess I just come from a time where things are a little more secure, I guess. _

When I told them who I was here for, however, the nurse who was checking me in had a very strange look on her face. She guided me through the hallways behind the check in windows back towards the wards silently. While I was walking, I tried to take note of my surroundings, The walls had been repainted and the original floors had been replaced with carpet. The patients themselves looked less stressed, although I couldn’t tell if that was because they were being treated better or if they were under heavy sedatives. I wasn’t really given enough time to look, but what I did see concerned me. It hadn’t even been a month since I was here last, and things looked  _ very _ different. The situation reminded me of when someone accidentally puts a hole in their wall, but then they cover it up with a portrait to avoid suspicion. 

We stop in a small nurses office not far from where Jessica’s room was. The nurse left me there alone and I waited quietly for someone to come and take me to who I came to see. Instead, a finely dressed young woman entered the room carrying a clipboard. She sat down in the chair across from me and crossed her ankles. She pursed her lips for a moment before she finally spoke. 

“You’ve caused us quite a bit of trouble, Miss Colvin.”

Panic started to set in immediately. I removed my cloche hat and set it in my lap, thinking fast about what I should say next. The woman did not wait for me to speak however. 

“I’m not here to throw you out, dear. It’s alright. The nurse came to alert us as soon as someone came for Jessica again. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but your… cousin, was it? She passed away about three weeks ago. I am very sorry for your loss.”

Completely taken aback, I brought a hand up to cover my open mouth. It took me a good thirty seconds to find my voice. “Dead? She’s…no, you must be mistaken. She was doing just fine the last time I was here. Jessica Taylor?”

The woman frowned. “Yes, unfortunately. I have her certificate here, if you’d like-”

“No. No, I don’t want to see it.” I dug my nails into the soft fabric of my hat. We sat in silence for a few minutes. As cold as she was, she at least gave me time to process the loss. “I have… I have some questions. Please. I’m not here as a reporter, I’m here for… I’m here because of Jessica.”

The woman nodded slowly. “That should be fine. So long as you do not write anything down, I will answer whatever you ask.”

“How do you know my name?” I had signed in under my real name, my twenty-first century name. I don’t think I even had anything on me that had Elizabeth’s name on it. “And who are you?”

“My name is Hope. I work for the President of this institution, as his personal aid and secretary. After you published that article of yours, we looked into who you were, and if you had ever been here. Your old newspaper kept photos of all of their staff, of course, and a few of the nurses recognized you. It was easy enough from then on.” Hope sighed. “You really tarnished our reputation, you know. That being said, some of the things you wrote had merit. We reflected on ourselves, and we upgraded the hospital appropriately.”

“What did she die of?”

“She had a sudden onset of pneumonia. I don’t think there was anything we could have done.”

“Pneumonia? That’s it?” I exclaimed in disbelief.

Hope tilted her head to the side and frowned. “That’s it? Miss Colvin, I don’t want to be rude, but do you have any knowledge about medicine or disease? Pneumonia is a critical illness, and once it takes hold it is incredibly hard to shake.”

_ Right. Medicine isn’t nearly as advanced as I’m used to. People die of the flu still, depending on the circumstances.  _ “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. She just… she seemed healthy last time I saw her, is all. Tell me please, can I see her? Where was she buried?”

“We cremated her. We have her ashes stored in the archives for now, until a family member can come and gather her.”

“Cremated her? Already? Without consulting her family?”

“There was no one on file for us to contact, Miss Colvin. I’m sorry. This is just proper procedure for us in this situation.” Hope eyes me gently. Her sympathy is genuine, and I can hear it in her voice. “If it is any consultation, we still have the ashes. No one has claimed them, to my knowledge, if you would like to retrieve them.”

I ponder this. It’s been three weeks since her passing, and no one has taken her things; I suppose that means no one is coming then. While I don’t want to take something from her family, I also don’t want her to stay in this hospital any longer.

“Yes, please. I would like that very much.” 

Hope stood then, and beckoned for me to follow. “I’ll have to take you to the store room. You’ll have to sign them out, but then they are yours to keep.” 

We had to go down to the basement to find the store room. It was barely lit and a little damp; the air smelled different down there. A man sitting at a small desk looked up as we approached. He slid a binder towards us, then tapped a pen against its papers. 

“Name, date and purpose, please.”

“Um… Elizabeth Colvin, February 12th, and I’m here to collect Jessica Taylor’s ashes and belongings.”

The man behind the counter looks at me like I’m an idiot. “I meant write it down. Wait, did you say Jessica Taylor?”

“I did.”

“Her father already came for her things.”

Even Hope looked startled by this. “Her father?”

“It says so right here. See?” He tapped the paper again with his pen, this time on a specific name. In a hasty scrawl, ‘ _ Walter Taylor _ ’ is written next to the first of February. 

“I thought her father was dead.” I mutter. 

“He is.” Hope responded, her arms crossed in irritation. “Thomas, this was incredibly irresponsible of you. Did you not ask for any sort of confirmation?”

“Why should I have? Who would want the belongings of a mad woman, save for her family?” Thomas said, just as irritated. “I don’t think he took everything, anyways. I can go see what’s left if you want it that badly.”

“I would, yes.” 

Thomas looked as if he was going to argue, but with Miss Hope there, he bites his tongue and retreats into the store room. He returns with a worn cardboard box. Inside it lays a small bag of ashes and a worn out stuffed pig. I turn over the stuffed animal and see that its stitching is loose. I pick at the seam and pull a small photo of a cleaned up Jessica, a man in a police uniform and a child no more than five or six. _This could be her family._ _Not to mention, if her father really came to get her things, why would he have left her ashes?_

“Is this the man the one that came to collect her belongings?” I asked, holding out the picture from the box. Thomas took it from my hand and squinted at the grainy image before shaking his head. 

“Nah, can’t be. The fella that came through here wasn’t nearly that handsome. He looked pretty creepy to be straight with you.”

Both Hope and I glared at him. “I’ll be filing a report on this, Thomas. Miss Colvin, come along. I’ll try and pull her file to see who else may have taken her things.”

“Really?” I asked. Her sudden decision to help me was very unexpected, but I was appreciative nonetheless. “Thank you very much.”

We walked over to another room aptly labeled ‘ _ Patient Records _ ’. Miss Hope unlocked the door with a set of keys she pulled from her belt. There were countless iron cabinets and shelves in rows; boxes of records were stacked on top of the cabinets, and even overflowing onto the few tables in the room. I wondered if anything was actually organized in here, or just shoved into places. Miss Hope started counting to herself as we walked, and finally stopped in front of one. She opened the third drawer and then fingered through until she found the file she was looking for. She opened it to what looked like her intake paperwork and started reading. 

“Admitted to Metropolitan Hospital for lapsing into insanity following the loss of her child. Father noted as being named Walter Taylor, status deceased. Will and testimony appoints one Bob Wilson will assume guardianship. All patient expenses will be borne by Wilson, respectively.” 

She closed the file and tucked it under her arm. “That’s all I have. Everything else in here is just medical paperwork and consent forms.”

“There’s no contact information for Wilson?”

“There wasn’t anything listed, no.”

“Then how would he cover her expenses if he didn’t leave any way to contact him? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Miss Hope was starting to get frustrated with me. “I don’t handle that. I suppose he left a checkbook or something with the hospital’s billing department.”

“Right. My apologies. Look, Miss Hope, you’ve been so helpful. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me today. I’ll be taking my leave, now, if that’s alright.”

“That’s just fine. I’ll take you up to the entrance myself.”

I started to protest, until I realized she had offered out of caution for her business and not simply out of hospitality. As we walked up the stairs, she turned to me and put her hand on the edge of the cardboard box I was carrying. 

“Miss Colvin. You have done an irreparable amount of damage to our institution. Now, I don’t believe that was your intention; the way you wrote your article, it’s clear that our patients' health was your primary concern, and I truly think you are trying to help people. That said, I need to make something very clear. If you continue down this path, whatever you’re trying to find- it is going to find you first, and it will not matter what your intentions are. Please, if you take anything I say today to heart, take this; stop now. Take her ashes, spread them over a lovely bed of flowers somewhere, and let this rest. Nothing good can come of this.”

Her hazel eyes beseeched me to heed her warning as she held my gaze.  _ Who’s side are you on, lady?  _ I thought as I tried to search her expression for more information. All I found was concern, but I couldn’t tell if she was worried for just me, or herself, or someone else entirely.  _ I can’t just leave this here. None of today made any sense. I would never really forgive myself if I didn’t get to the bottom of this. _ I couldn’t bring myself to disregard her pleas, however, and I instead chose to pretend to take her advice. 

“I think I’m satisfied with this, ma’am. I have her ashes and some peace of mind, and that’s more than I thought I would get from coming here today. Thank you, really.”

She accepted my answer with a curt nod. She led me to the front door of the hospital and opened the door for me since I didn’t have any free hands; she opened her mouth as if she was going to tell me something else, but shut it and shook her head. She watched me go down the stairs before she went back into the building, closing the door behind her. I felt empty. While I had gotten a few answers today, I had ultimately ended up with more questions than I had arrived with. I had a woman I barely knew in a bag and a worn out photo, a few names, and a headache.  _ What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to find this Bob Wilson? What did he want with her things? Did her death actually occur naturally, or is that just a cover up?  _

As I walked towards the heavy iron gate, I noticed a small booth with a laundry truck parked in front of it. A man in a white uniform was jotting down some information in a binder as he spoke to the driver.  _ That’s it! All of the people that come in and out of the grounds have to be recorded! I bet you they’ve got the license plate and car that came through on the first.  _ I picked up my pace and trotted to the little building. Before I knocked, I took a minute to try and summon a few fake tears. As soon as the truck departed, I rapped on the door. 

“Are ya lost, Missy?”

I sniffled, trying to keep up the illusion that I had been crying. The man held out a hand to me, his brows dipped with concern. 

“Ay, ay it’s alright, what’s the matter?” 

“Oh, it's just awful sir. My sister, you see, she p-passed away this month, and, oh.” I shuffled the box of ashes to rest against my hip. His eyes followed the box, and he frowned when he saw its contents. “I was all she had left in the world, you know? Our father died when we were little, and she just couldn’t handle the pain… but when I came to get her things today, do you know what the caretaker said!”

“No, honey, what did he say?” The man asked soothingly as he led me into the booth. I pretended to collapse down onto the little folding chair as I wiped my crocodile tears away with my fingertips. 

“He had the gall to tell me our  _ father _ had come to pick up her things two weeks ago. Now, unless it was a ghost, I highly doubt Papa came to take her particulars… but I don’t know who it was!” I took a moment to clutch my skirt and drag it a little ways higher up my leg, exposing my skin above my knees. “I’m just so beside myself with grief, I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to turn to. You’re my last hope! I thought you might have seen him, you know, when he came through?”

While I’m sure he was paying some attention to what I was saying, the man was almost completely focused on my thigh. He wet his lips and rubbed his palm against the back of his neck nervously. I slid the skirt back down and placed the box in my lap again, the ashes front and center.  _ Sorry, Jessica. _

“Hey well, you’re just in luck, sweetheart. I take notes on every car that comes through here. Nobody comes through here without talking to me first.” He grabbed the binder off of the little table ledge and handed it to me. “What day did that bastard come through, ay?”

“T-the first of February.” 

The man leaned in and flipped a few of the pages backwards, before pointing to a license plate number. “That’s gotta be him, right there. The rest of the log that day is all supplies. Does ‘ _ Walter Taylor’ _ ring a bell?”

I let my lower lip tremble and I pretended to sob. “That’s our father’s name!”

“What a fuckin’ asshole- pardon my French, sweetheart. Here, you know what, you let me write down his license plate and the car type for you, and you can take it to the police and see if they can help you track him down. That’s theft, and that makes him a grade-A thug. They can book him for that.” 

I winced at his last statement.  _ I guess that kinda makes what I’m doing theft as well, huh. Probably best  _ not _ to go to the police with this.  _ The man copied down the entry from the first and pressed the little scrap of paper into my hand. 

“Thank you so much sir, believe me, you don’t know how much this means to me.” I stood and tucked the paper into my box before giving him a peck on the cheek for good measure. His face flushed a bright magenta, and I left quickly before he could respond. I flagged my cab and left for home feeling a little dirty, but satisfied. My only problem was that I didn’t know where to go from here. I spent the cab ride home writing down everything I could remember learning today so that I could start compiling notes on this case.  _ I guess I should probably keep these ones somewhere that they can’t be stolen.  _

As we got closer to home, a sense of melancholy enveloped me. Jessica was really dead. I hadn’t known her very long, of course; I had only met her once, but I still felt as though I had contributed to her end, somehow. She had a very painful life, and while her suffering was over, all I felt was sad. I would have to find somewhere nice to lay her ashes- somewhere important. I just didn’t know where.

**

Around supper, there was a knock on my door. I had barely registered that night had come already; I had been writing for hours, trying to map out a timeline for Jessica. I knew for certain I wasn’t expecting any company, and my nerves started to get to me. I swept everything on the table into a small pile and shoved it into a drawer near me. The knock came again, sharp and impatient. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

I padded over to the door and flung it open to see a dressed down Davis holding a large paper bag. 

“Davis?” I looked him over, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you, little mouse! I haven’t seen you in over a day!” He pouted playfully. 

I stepped aside so that he could come inside. He placed the bag down on my counter, and opened it up. He pulled a red felt hat from it and set that down on the counter as well. I recognized it as mine instantly; I must have left it in his car the last time he gave me a ride home. He then proceeded to pull out a bottle of wine and some take-out. 

“Have you eaten?” He asked.

“Um…” I thought about it and realized I hadn’t eaten at all since yesterday. The mention of food made my stomach ache with hunger. “No, actually. I kind of forgot.”

Davis opened and closed my cabinets until he found my plates and glasses and brought them over. “Good. I went by the Automat on the way over here to grab myself something, but I figured if I was going to swing by your place I should get you something too.”

“You didn’t have to do that…” I mumbled, embarrassed.

Davis side-eyed me and made a ‘tsk’ noise. “Would you have had dinner if I didn’t bring it?” I didn’t respond. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed a plate over to me with a meat pie and mashed potatoes. He followed that up with a white wine he had also had in the bag, which he poured into a coffee mug because it was the only kind of cup I had at the moment. As soon as I caught the smell of the pie, I started eating. It was actually pretty good, better than I had expected. I managed to get out a quick thank you between the bites I was shoveling into my mouth. 

“What were you up to today? Mr. Kane said you took the day to go research something.”

I swallowed quickly and took a drink before I answered. “I did, yeah. I went back to the hospital.”

Davis stopped eating. “I thought you wanted me to go with you when you did that.”

“Well I mean, you weren’t there this morning, so I just figured I would go on my own.” 

He sighed and laid down his fork. “Liz, come on. You could’ve called me. I thought you wanted to do this together.”

I stabbed at my potatoes quietly. He was right; I had asked for his help. In all honesty I had just forgotten, but I felt terrible now that he had mentioned it. “I can tell you about it. There’s some stuff I’m confused about that you might be able to help with.”

“Okay.” He paused to refill his coffee mug. “I’m not mad, or anything. Just wondered. We can look at it when you’re done eating.”

“If you were trying to find someone, how would you do it? If you didn’t have an address.” I asked.

Davis groped around in his chest pocket for a moment until he pulled out a beat up piece of paper. “This is probably my best informant. His name’s Jack. He’s really great and finding hard to come by information.” He pushed the paper my way. “He does charge, unfortunately, but it’s not unreasonable.”

_ My kind of unreasonable or your kind of unreasonable?  _ I wondered as I watched him drink from my mug. “Awesome. Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

We finished our meal in silence. After I washed up the dishes, I went to grab my notes out of the drawer. Davis sat on my couch and waited patiently. I spread what little I had out the way I had had it before Davis had arrived, and then sat down beside him.

“Did you see the lady you were looking for?”

I stared, despondent, at the table and bit my lip. Reaching out, I gently touched the photo I had found in Jessica’s stuffed toy, my fingertips stroking the paper cheek of the woman that had turned my life upside down in a matter of weeks. I had certainly seen her, alright- what was left of her anyways. I had placed her little bag of ashes inside an abalone trinket box that I had gotten from my mother; it was resting on the end table directly to Davis’s right. 

“Liz?”

“No. She passed away a little while after I wrote my article.”

“Oh.” Davis frowned. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I can’t help but feel like I had a hand in it. Like, maybe if I hadn’t have written about her… maybe she would have lived.”

Davis placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You can’t think like that, little mouse. She probably wouldn’t have made it very long in that place, anyways. You got a lot of other people taken out of that place, and you gave her a voice that she never had.”

I nodded. While his words didn’t really help in the moment, I knew he was right. It was just hard to take it in. We talked for a while about where I was supposed to go from here; we decided the next course of action would be finding out who the license was registered to. After that, maybe we could set up some sort of meet-up or interrogation. Davis dismissed himself around eleven, after we felt we had thoroughly covered our plan of action. On his way out the door, I couldn’t help myself from asking the question that had been eating away this evening. 

“Hey, Davis?”

“Mm?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” 

“When you said you missed me.”

He looked at me, puzzled, his hand resting on the car door’s handle. “I always miss you when you’re not around, Liz.”

I frowned. I don’t think that was the answer I wanted, but I had only known him a month at this point. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.

“Oh. Well, goodnight, then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Davis's POV

February 12th, 1928

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, damnit!”

Davis smacked his steering wheel repeatedly as he drove away from Elizabeth’s brownstone. Frustration was boiling up and spilling over the edges, curses bubbling out of his mouth in a steady stream. He had never been the best with words; he said the wrong thing at the wrong time, most of the time- but he tried so very hard to be smooth, a man with a golden tongue. Truly, he had thought that telling her he missed her all of the time would have come off as romantic. Instead, he had watched her little crestfallen face turn away from him as she trudged back into her tiny apartment. 

“All you had to say was yes. That’s all. Not that hard, Edmund.” He snapped at himself. “Or, better yet, you could have just kissed her. No questioning that one, right? Very distinct- definitely says ‘I think about you all the time’, ‘I missed you’ and all that jazz.”

He grimaced.  _ Would _ it have been a good idea to kiss her, though? Her friend had just died. Well, not a friend, but someone that she had deemed important. _ It would have been tone deaf _ , he thought.  _ Almost like I was diminishing her grief.  _ Not that it was his intention to do so, no, of course not. But there she was just so lovely in the soft light of her living room, the amber glow of her table lamp casting warm highlights across her freckled skin. The unique scent of Jicky Guerlain and Spearmint filled the air when she walked past, enveloping him in a concentrated calm. She sat next to him like he was her closest friend; she didn’t care about being proper or any sort of stuffy etiquette. He never had to scramble to keep a conversation going- she was even comfortable to sit in silence with. She simply enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed hers very, very much. 

Because of those moments of companionship, he found it incredibly hard to focus on anything around her,  _ except _ for her. He was nervous to say he loved her-he hadn’t loved anyone in a very long time- but he figured it was the closest to love. Maybe ‘like-like’, as White’s nephew would tease when he caught Davis ogling at her at work.

“ _ So when are you gonna take her out, Mr. Davis _ ?” he would ask, a joyous smile spread across his cheeks. 

“ _ Soon _ ,” Davis would reply in a hurried, hushed voice. “ _ Not that it’s any of your business, kid _ .” He couldn’t really scold the boy, though. It was hard not to grin back at that exuberance. He would ruffle the boys hair and gently nudge him along to finish his errands. 

White’s nephew had a point, though. Davis just had to find the right time.  _ When was the right time? _ Well, that was the hard part. What Daisy had said a few weeks ago had really bothered him. He  _ was _ emotionally unattached. Elizabeth was one of the first people he had really opened up to in years. He had a few friends, yes- he considered everyone in the office a friend. None of them knew much about him, though. The only other person who knew him like Elizabeth ( _ and Daisy, he supposed _ ) was Mr. Kane, as George held a place in his heart as a sort of father figure. The man’s age and wise aura easily overshadowed the fact that Davis was technically his boss, and Davis looked up to him. So, aside from them, Davis was completely independent. 

And what if she didn’t reciprocate? He would lose his close friend and confidant,  _ and _ work would become increasingly awkward. Was it worth it? Was having her love worth the risk?

Davis decided he wasn’t quite ready to settle in for the night, and continued past his hotel. He instead parked in front of a gentlemen’s club he frequented, his membership another hand-me-down from his late father. He handed the valet his keys and walked inside into the lobby. The Metropolitan Club (no relation to the hospital) was about thirty years old, which made it one of the newer gentlemen’s clubs in New York. It was a relatively stuffy place, but it was extraordinarily decorated with genuine leather chairs and velvet curtains, and most importantly- it was open very late into the night without fear of being raided as a speakeasy. 

Davis entered the main bar where a good deal of men were playing poker and toasting brandy. He took a seat in one of the far corners of the opulent room and relaxed. After waving down a steward to bring him a glass of brandy as well, he reached into his inner jacket pocket. He pulled out a Komai cigarette case, and from that a thin cigarette. While he rarely smoked, Davis could appreciate a good drag every now and then- this seemed like the right kind of night to do so. He returned the case to its pocket and fumbled around for his light. Agitated, he slid the cigarette between his teeth and used both hands to try and find his lighter. He was about to give up when he heard the distinct  _ click _ of a spark catching flame.

“ _Posso_ _accenderlo_?”

Davis turned his face towards the lighter and allowed the man to light his cigarette. He took a drag and then smiled at the stranger. 

“Thanks for that. Don’t know where mine went.”

The stranger nodded and gave him a polite smile. Well, if you could call it that. The upper corner of his lip twitched a little higher than its resting position, indicating some sort of emotion, but calling it anything more than a smirk was probably a stretch. He followed Davis’s suit and lit a cigarette of his own before gesturing to the empty seat across from him.

“By all means.”

“ _ Grazie _ . Not a fan of poker?” He asked, nodding to the gambling crowd behind him. Davis chuckled.

“Not in the slightest. I don’t have the composure for it, unfortunately.”

“A good poker face is hard to come by. There certainly isn’t one in this room. I could point out every person who’s bluffing, easily.” 

“Yeah? Pray tell.”

The man nodded and took a moment to observe the room. In turn, Davis observed him- his slicked back black hair and deep eyes, his custom Italian suit and silk tie. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jawline- all and all, a very good looking man. Davis found himself wondering what had brought him to this club, out of all the others. While the Metropolitan was certainly fancy, this man looked far better suited to The Brook or The Century, or perhaps The Knick. Instead, he was here, smoking a cigarette with the owner of a substandard newspaper. 

“That man, over there- he’s got a winning hand, so far. He’s nervous, but happy- you can see it in the little crow's feet by his eyes. It’s all in the little expressions, the subconscious.” 

“Huh. What about that one, in the pinstripes.”

“He’s not losing, but he doesn’t think he’s winning, either. His face looks calm, but you can see his jaw is clenched. He’s not blinking enough. He’s been rubbing his arms between every round. He’s most likely bet too many chips and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get them back. I would say money, but he’s not on edge enough for that.”

“I don’t think they’re allowed to bet real money in here.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to drink, either. And yet…” The Italian man said coyly. Davis cleared his throat and took a sip of his brandy. 

“You’ve got me there, champ.”

“Indeed.” He murmured. “Not that I’m judging. I’ll partake as soon as I can flag down a steward. I was just trying to make a point.”

“What about people who aren’t gambling? Can you do the same thing?”

The Italian raised an eyebrow. “You can. Why, what would you be looking for that cannot simply be asked?”

“Say like, you’re dizzy with a dame, but you’re not sure if she feels the same way about you. How would you read that?”

The other man laughed. “Women?  _ Uomo sciocco,  _ I said I could read a poker face. Women are… women are their own breed. You’ll think they’re mad at you when they’re head over heels, seem interested when they’re merely being polite. God himself could not read a woman even if he had written her by his own hand.”

Davis laughed with him. It was at least validating knowing that all men had the same troubles. He snuck a glance at the man’s left hand and saw no ring there; they were in the same boat. Davis stayed quiet for a while, finishing his cigarette. When the stranger finished his own, he lit another. His company was comfortable enough, though Davis would have preferred to be alone. 

“Would you like to talk about her?”

Davis stiffened. “Whom?”

“This… dame, that you’re so keen on.”

“Oh.” Davis paused and watched the smoldering butt in the ashtray go out. “Well, she’s- she’s a real wild card, that gal. Knows what she wants, she’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she’s so reckless. I think she’s going to get herself into trouble with the way she goes about things. Oh, but what a dish she is! She could make a guy lose all track of himself. Legs for days, and personality to boot.” 

“I certainly know the type.” 

“Yeah?” He sighed. “I just don’t know what to do with her. Well I mean, I know what I’d  _ like _ to do with her but I’m just right scared of screwing it up.” 

The stranger nodded to himself, thinking. “Best thing to do with girls like that is let them come to you.”

“Let her come to me?”

“You seem like an outgoing man. Slick. A real cake-eater. Ah-” He held up a finger as Davis opened his mouth to protest. “It’s not a bad thing, truly. It can get you very far. But a woman like that, she has to decide you’re worth her time. You can court her until the end of time, but she won’t go for it unless it’s on her terms.”

“Huh. Interesting take.”

“You can’t mess up, either, if you’re not the one holding the reigns.”

“I just don’t want to miss my chance. Or god forbid, lose her to someone else.”

They sat in silence again. Davis wasn’t really sure he wanted to continue telling him anything, as he wasn’t sure as to why he had started doing so in the first place. When the steward came back around to fill his glass, he accepted. He stayed quiet and looked around the room again. The later it got, the more people started to thin out. There were less groups of players now, and the ones that were left were likely only there because they had lost track of time. Davis took interest in a man in the corner opposite them, a scrawny little thing dripping with sweat. He was flanked by a burly looking man with a cigar hanging out the side of his mouth, and another who had a thin white scar running from his brow to his cupid's bow. His hands were shaking something terrible as he tried to jostle something around in a cup on the table. 

“He looks like he’s having a terrible time.” Davis said, finally. 

“He is. Or, he’s about to, anyways.” 

Davis’s eyes narrowed as he tried to focus better on the odd group. “He looks a little scruffy to be playing at a place like this. Are they betting money?”

“I believe they’re playing Hazard.” He replied, not really answering the question. “And he is losing, very badly.”

“Even I can tell that, boss.” 

The Italian cocked a brow at the slang. For a split second he looked nervous, then relaxed with a soft chuckle. They watched the struggling man in silence. The Italian eventually got himself a glass of red, and Davis replaced his brandy with scotch. The game went on longer than Davis had expected for someone who was supposedly losing ‘very badly’. The nervous man was giving it his all. Davis and his stranger managed to get through four and two drinks respectively before the man ultimately fell apart. One of the dice tumbled onto the floor and he gave out a desperate, low wail. He sounded helpless, and truly frightened. 

“He must have bet a  _ lot  _ of money.” Davis muttered. The stranger stood and fixed his coat. He put out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the table.

“He’s going to lose a lot more than money here soon.”

Davis felt a chill run down his spine as he caught sight of the Colt holstered to the man’s belt. He locked eyes with the Italian.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

The stranger did not offer his identity. Instead, he extended a leather gloved hand for a handshake. Davis shook it tentatively. 

“You have a good night, Mr. Davis. Drive safely.”

With that, the man left out the rear exit of the Main Bar. Davis still had his hand held out, shocked- he had never told the stranger his own name. He could have met him sometime before, though he highly doubted it. Davis collected his belongings and hurried out of the front entrance to the valet to find his car. As he left, he saw the man with the long scar grab the scrawny fellow by his collar and drag him out of the booth. The strangers words echoed in his mind, and he found himself nauseous as he realized he was seconds away from witnessing some sort of underground activity again. As he sat down in his car and drove away, he swore he could have heard a gunshot ring out in the night from the alley next to the clubhouse. Davis wondered if perhaps he should have just gone back to the hotel, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posso accenderlo- can I light that?  
> Grazie- thank you  
> uomo sciocco- silly man


End file.
